It's Okay
by R-COTA
Summary: DISCONTINUED: The story of when the Rebel Alliance fails to retrieve Katniss from the 75th Hunger Games. They continue on uninterrupted.
1. Chapter 1

This takes place in Catching Fire. It replaces the ending, starting before the breakout attempt. In this instance, the breakout attempt fails, and the games continue on as they were supposed to.

It's Okay

Beetee's plan with the wire is in motion. It's late, and every second brings us closer to the storm of lightning.

"Come on, Peeta," I urged. "We really should leave, it's time to break off. There's only a few Tributes left now." Eight in total. Peeta and I make up two. Then there is Beetee, Finnick and Johanna, Haymitch's friend Chaff, and Enobaria and Brutus from District 2. Again, I can see the hesitancy in Peeta's eyes, and he refuses again.

"One more night, please," he says. "We'll take off in the morning." I stare at him, eyes wide with concern, and I bite my lip. I'm tempted to leave him on his own, and play the rest of the game individually, but I remember my vow: Peeta will be the last one out of here, and it will be the last thing I do. The resolve in his eyes is clear. I nod slowly, but I regret it. Oh, Peeta, I think, bad move. Over by the trees Beetee is going over the finer points of his plan with the wire and the trees with Johanna and Finnick. Looking at them critically, I try and suss out how their alliance with us feels. I don't see any shifty looks. No one is watching someone's turned back. It really does seem like the alliance is still going strong. Nevertheless, it is getting late in the games, and seven of us still have to die. It's also getting very late in the night; and the lightning storm must be soon.

Beetee, Johanna and Finnick join us. It is time for us to split up, including Peeta and myself. We protest obviously, but eventually agree. We're about to turn away in our separate groups; myself and Johanna, and Finnick, Beetee and Peeta, when at the last second I run at Peeta. I kiss him briefly, strongly and sweetly, and then turn away, double checking my quiver of arrows and bow are firmly attached to my back.

"Come on, Johanna," I whisper, trudging in the sand. Her face is calculating as she looks at me, but she shrugs and follows me, the coil of wire Beetee just handed her tight in her grip. I can sense Peeta's eyes on my back, and I know we're both wondering if he's made the wrong decision. We hurry to the sector on the clock arena pointed at by the tail of the cornucopia. We find the tallest tree and are about the initiate the plan when we notice the wire is broken. I have just enough time to worry about Peeta when my head is smashed by something hard. Johanna has struck me with the wire coil. She forces me down roughly to the ground, sits on top of me, and stabs my arm deeply with a knife she'd had concealed. I cry out with the pain and kick with my legs wildly, trying to dislodge Johanna. Johanna is suddenly gone and so is the knife intrusion in my arm. I can now painfully feel the tracker in my arm. "What?" I actually say in confusion, looking at my arm. It looks as though it has been struck on an artery. I look up in time to see Johanna disappearing into the shadows of the forest. Almost immediately I can hear the sounds of battle occurring. Obviously someone more threatening than me has come along. I stagger to my feet, knowing the alliance is over, and rush back to where I know Peeta should be. I hear the cannon boom once, and pick up my pace. The stretch of sand seems ridiculously long as I run, clutching my profusely bleeding arm, seeming to not get anywhere. The wind suddenly picks up, and I know it has struck twelve. The storm is beginning. "Peeta!" I scream as loud as I can, still running. I let go of my injured arm, and utilise both in my running. The sand is being whipped up by the harsh winds, and I'm forced to squint my eyes for protection. I can hear sounds of humans not far off, and I run to them, hearing another cannon. I trip over a still body as I run, falling face first in the sand. My heart stops. Peeta? I scramble back to it, sending sand flying. I practically fall on the body looking for a familiar feature. It's not Peeta, but Chaff, Haymitch's friend. I look around again, searching but I can't see through the sand. "Peeta!" My throat feels like it rips I yell so loudly. Still no response. I lurch upwards again, leaving the body, and sprint forwards again. He must be here somewhere. Beetee is suddenly next to me, gripping my arm. Automatically, I try and wriggle free. His poor old fingers let me go, and I jump back defensively, raising my hands, prepared to fight.

"The plan!" he cries. "What are you doing?" He gestures back where I came from, where the wire is not hung.

"Johanna attacked me! The alliance is over! She ran off! I'll let you go once, now go!" I yell, and turn to leave. Beetee grabs me again.

"No, this is more important – ach!" he cries out as sand hits his eyes. Using this distraction I run rapidly, yelling for Peeta, unashamedly giving away my position. Finally, I hear a response.

"Katniss!" He's close; less than a hundred metres away, seconds away. I can see his silhouette now through the sand, then it is flung into clear relief as lightning strikes, illuminating the whole arena for a split second. He's injured, but okay. We reach each other, and embrace briefly, then examine each other hurriedly. "I killed Brutus! He killed Chaff. I ran from Finnick the second I heard you."

"Johanna attacked me, and then ran off. I guess to attack Enobaria. Beetee's around somewhere. We have to go." As one we run off to a random section of the woods, one 'safe' for a few hours. We stop when our lungs are struggling. We clutch each other for support as our breath returns to normal.

"I'm sorry," gasps Peeta. "I should never have agreed to one more night." I shake my head, in a dismissal of his apology. He grunts in annoyance. "No, I could have lost you." He grabs me again, pulls me forcefully against his chest and kisses my cheek roughly through the hug. "It is not okay!" His hands fight for purchase on my body, seeming to check if it's really there. He pushes back enough to kiss my lips once, twice, a third time, before pulling me back to the rib-cracking hug. This is why Peeta must survive; like Finnick implied: he is one of the truly good people left in these games, and the world needs good people. The joy of reunion is wearing thin, and we must find some more weapons, as we only have my arrows, and we need to find water. Unfortunately we've lost the tool to gain it. 

"These games won't last much longer," I say grimly. "Hours." Peeta looks at me, and I meet his look. Defiantly, we both turn away as we can still see that we're determined to make the other survive. A kind of stalemate has occurred. Neither of us will leave the other, but if we make it to the end, neither of us will kill each other. Peeta picks at something on the ground. I can only think of one way to proceed, even if for a little while. "Final two?" I say, holding out my hand for a deal. The cannon fires again suddenly, and we stand, warily. Peeta grips my hand, but I'm not sure if it's for support, or agreeing to the deal. I shut my eyes emotionally, inhaling deeply, tears threatening to leak. I shake my head, clearing it again of conscience.

"Let's do this," says Peeta. We hold hands as we walk, back towards the sand. "The spear Brutus tried to throw at me should still be there." It's not too long until we're back, but we're significantly weaker. Ten metres from the edge, I pull one of the few remaining arrows, of a total of four, from my quiver, and prepare it. The storm is still going surprisingly. Good. It is good cover. We begin the search for the spear. The body of Chaff is long since gone, leaving us no clues. We walk blindly in the storm, until we luckily come across it. Peeta salvages it from the sand where it protruded at a 45 degree angle.

"Peeta, Katniss!" A voice calls. We instantly recognise it as Finnick. I pull my bow back, taking aim at the direction of the voice. Peeta raises his spear across his body. Finnick slowly comes into view, and the sand dies down. It's a new hour. He raises his hands in defensiveness. "Whoa, guys. Calm down. I'm not going to hurt you. We have to talk." He keeps stepping forward with slow deliberated movements. I pull my arrow tighter.

"Stop right there!" I yell warningly. "Alliance is over."

"No, it's not," splutters Finnick, clearly stressed. "You don't understand, something was supposed to happen."

"Yeah, you guys were going to double cross us," says Peeta. Peeta turns side on, spreading his legs, his spear poised and ready for offensive or defensive movement. Finnick glances around shiftily, and lowers his voice to a conspirator's whisper.

"No, we're supposed to be out of here by now." His eyes emphatically try and explain without giving up the story to the Capitol. As if to explain this, Caesar's voice suddenly booms over the arena to announce a new rule.

"Greetings, remaining Tributes, due to the attempted rescue of the Tributes by a rebel alliance, we decree that these Hunger Games shall persevere for a maximum of two hours. If within these two hours only one Tribute remains, that Tribute will become the Victor. Any more than one Tribute remaining at the end of the two hours will result in all Tributes being killed by default. This is the only announcement." Peeta and my eyes grow wide in unison. Finnick shrugs his shoulders.

"That's what I was trying to say. We were supposed to destroy the arena force field, and we were going to-"

But what else we were going to do, we did not find out. My arrow flew swiftly from the bow, and lodged itself directly and entirely through Finnick's brain. He falls to the ground with a gentle thud. A trickle of blood oozes out from the wound and the cannon fires. Peeta turns to me in horror.

"What did you do that for?" He yells while gesturing wildly to Finnick's splayed corpse. I say nothing, but kneel next to Finnick's body. His eyes are wide, and his expression has not changed. A low moan escapes my throat, and I cradle his head to my chest. I gently pull the arrow from his head, rest his head lightly on the sand and close his eyes. The tears brim in my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. Peeta stares at me, his anger has deflated.

"I did that for you," I mutter, wiping Finnick's blood from my arrow on my tattered clothes. "You heard the man; two hours left. Two tributes other than us left. Now, anyway." I stand up, stoic, arranging my shoulders squarely, replacing the arrow. I walk away, and Peeta follows. He squeezes my hand.

"What if the rebels can get through? We should wait before we kill everyone." Always the optimist, Peeta.

"No." I say. I know he's about to say 'why not?'. "They won't have enough time. Speaking of time, we're running out." I can feel my resolve solidify all over again. The two other Tributes will die, and then I will find a way to kill myself. I'm just wondering who remains when the Capitol logo shines in the sky. Brutus from District 2 shows up first, Peeta's kill. Finnick follows, District 4, my handiwork. Johanna Mason, District 7. I audibly gasp; I felt for sure she was alive. Last is Chaff, District 11, Brutus' work. Peeta and I are doing the mental working out. Just Beetee and Enobaria to go. Peeta's hand finds mine and he clutches it. We know we've got very little time left. I can feel my heart start to panic, pumping rapidly, threatening to break through my ribs. I return the squeezing of my hand. I have less than two hours to live, it dawns on me. Two hours left with Peeta. I jump on Peeta, knocking him to the ground and the spear from his hand and I rapidly deliver kisses to him. I'm impatient, as if I'm trying to get a lifetime's worth of kisses out in two hours. Peeta grips me tightly, his hand threading through my hair. I clutch Peeta's face with my hands, probably too roughly, but I don't care. I realise his face is wet, my fingers slip repeatedly. He is crying. I open my eyes to look at his tear stained face. My own tears, usually held back so successfully, finally break free. His hands find my face, and we stare at each other, tears falling silently, kneeling on the sand. There is nothing else between us now, no confusion of our relationship, no hard feelings. We know one of us will be dead shortly. His eyes are sad, but resolved. So are mine, I'm sure. One last calculated kiss between the two of us; soft and sure, longing and grieved. We know that underneath, we are truly enemies, working deliberately against one another's cause. We nod, and the panic in my heart stops. It's time.

We survey the trees around us, looking for a sign of an enemy. No doubt Beetee is hiding. Enobaria on the other hand, might be waiting to ambush us at any moment. I pull an arrow out, and hold it at the ready; my arm is not as steady as it usually is. What an annoying injury Johanna gave me. Peeta picks up his spear and we walk forward as one. Since the Reaping, we really have been one. One being wrapped up in two entities. Soon we would have to split. Maybe we can kill the others quickly, and spend the rest of the time together. Maybe. I become aware of my arm thumping painfully. The blood loss is seriously affecting it, and I'm beginning to feel a little woozy and tingly in my extremities. Peeta on the other hand, though bruised and battered, is strong. I don't let Peeta see my deteriorating condition. The woods aren't far from us, and we use them for cover. I keep my arrow poised at all times, and Peeta is constantly looking around. We don't have to wait long. Enobaria manages to surprise us, jumping from one of the larger trees, knocking me to the ground. I land painfully on the bow and I accidentally release the arrow far off into the trees. Damn. I look up. Peeta is locked in physical combat with Enobaria. Enobaria, though a woman, is definitely strong, possibly stronger than Peeta. Peeta has her locked in a headlock, but can't seem to find much else to do with her. Enobaria stamps hard on Peeta's remaining foot, causing him to relinquish her. She punches Peeta in the throat, and he gasps, and hacks. He coughs up blood. I realise I am standing completely still. Forcing myself to action, I jump on Enobaria, wrapping my legs around her waist from behind, wrapping my arms, constricting her breath, around her neck. She rasps loudly, trying to shake me off, but I hold tight, squeezing harder and harder. She deliberately falls backward, so that she squashes me. She's quick to recover, and jumps on me, returning the favour of strangling me. Peeta's spear is suddenly thrown directly through her ears. Cannon fire. I kick her immobilised body off me and run to Peeta, who is still coughing up blood.

"Are you okay?" I yell. Peeta nods, and attempts to respond, but can't. It appears his vocal cords have been damaged. "Can you breathe properly?" Again, he nods. The action seems to cause him pain. "Beetee left," I say. Beetee was going to be difficult. Old, but cluey. I take Peeta's hand and pull him with me as I walk, in no particular direction. It's dull in the woods, and with the threat of Beetee around, Peeta and I can't relax and enjoy our remaining time together.

It's been at least half an hour, maybe even forty five minutes, when I think I see something. I can see a struggling form walking. Towards us? My bow is ready in a second. It is Beetee.

"Hold it," he murmurs. He is obviously injured. There is blood caked down his face and he has many wounds all over his body. I hold it, as instructed. I can tell he doesn't have much time left anyway. I struggle to concentrate on him, now that I'm less worried. Some fuzziness comes over my vision. I keep forgetting I am slowly bleeding to death, a fact Peeta hasn't noticed. "I'm sorry you guys. We tried to get you out. We really did. You could both be safely kept away by now, but…" He trails off. "Finnick and Johanna were good people. Whichever of you is left, don't forget them. Me either, if you could." Peeta and I can only stare at him, Peeta in particular since he cannot talk. Beetee continues. "So you got Enobaria, huh? Good job. I managed to get away. Not for long, heh." He points to his bleeding head. "Listen, kids. There's only about half an hour left." Peeta and I join hands again at this news. "I won't bother you, I promise." Beetee struggles to lower himself to the floor on the woods. I help him down, risky, I know, but I feel like he's being honest. He does nothing to attack me. "I'm as good as dead, anyway. You two enjoy what's left of your time." I see a single tear leak from his bruised eyes. Peeta is also tearing at his generosity. I stay strong, but my voice cracks.

"Thank you, and good luck." I shake his hand and give it a gentle squeeze. His skin is soft and feathery, the way peoples' skin get as they age. I turn to Peeta, who encircles his arm around my shoulder. We walk back to the sand, the safest part of the arena.

We choose a random spot to sit down in. I place my head on Peeta's shoulder. "How's your throat?" Peeta shrugs. No better. I feel my arm go fully numb, and I realise I probably have even less time than half an hour. The sand is cold beneath us, and even though our time is dwindling away, we just don't know what to do, what to say. I look at Peeta's expressionless face, staring out at the water. His lips are dry and cracked, his skin is sore and shiny in parts, but he is still Peeta. I gently kiss his cheek. I let out of a hearty sob from my chest, and I turn away, ashamed. There is a great pain in my chest and the sobbing helps it. I throw my arms around Peeta as gently as I can, and the sobs uncontrollably wreak havoc on my body. Peeta grasps what he can of me. I feel his tears leak through my hair, and I have to look at him. He will be the last thing I see. The cannon fires over the arena. Beetee has succumbed to the blood loss. I am reminded of his sacrifice; he could have killed the both of us, and then received treatment and survived. I am reminded that this is my last chance to do anything. I think we both realise it.

Simultaneously, we lock each other in a fierce embrace, kissing aggressively. This is it. This is all we have. The Capitol and all of our Districts are watching as the famous star-crossed lovers give them their final performance. I ignore my growing hazy state. If I'm going to die, I'm going to know everything about the moments before I do so. Peeta hungrily grabs my body and I return the gesture. He rolls on top of me, and I encircle my legs around his hips. Suddenly a sponsor gift floats down next to us. We look at it, confused. Why would people send us something now? I reach out my good arm and open it. It's a blanket. Two, actually. Peeta understands though. He climbs off me, unfolds one flatly on the beach besides us, pulls me over to it, and unfolds the second one over us. It dawns on me. The sponsors are giving us as much privacy as we can have in this particularly instant. I turn to him. We're both laying down, considering our options. A silent agreement occurs between us. This is all the time we have left; we can't waste it. Peeta brushes his hand on my face. I close my eyes, relishing the feeling. A tear leaks out, and falls down my face, catching on my lip. Peeta kisses it away.

"I love you," I say miserably. Peeta is speechless…well, I suppose he already was. His eyes are nearly closed, the tears stream almost freely down his face. How it must hurt to only hear that before one of us will die. He turns to the sand above our heads, and traces his fingers through the soft grain.

I love you too, he writes.

"I know," I say hysterically, "I know, Peeta, I know!" And we're kissing again. Urgently and as if on fire. There is no time. Very little time. Ceaser's voice rings out again.

"15 minutes…" he says. I think I can hear the sadness in his voice. Of most Capitol people, I've found him more bearable than others. I cry loudly, and Peeta tries to kiss my tears away. I could practically hear his thoughts: "It's okay, Katniss. It's okay. I love you." We're both very wet from tears, but the kissing is not enough. I tug at his pants desperately. If I'm going to die, I'm going to have Peeta in every way I can. He understands what I'm doing, and he helps me. He kicks them off, with his underpants, and they slide out from under our blanket. I reach for mine, but again I'm little help with my next to useless arm. He does it for me, removing my underwear simultaneously. I spread my legs and Peeta pushes our hips together.

"Peeta," I moan, scared, full of lust, and sad. He nods. Again: "I know," the nod says. There's no preamble. His right arm holds my back, pulling my torso forward, and the other supports his weight. He pushes into me partially, and I gasp. He kisses me forcefully and then pushes himself all the way in. I clench my teeth in pain, but it's okay. My mouth hangs open, as Peeta starts to move rhythmically. He manages a guttural moan through his damaged throat. I moan with him, and pull him back for a kiss. I can feel the desperation between us to share this moment. I can tell that for both of us it is the first time; Peeta is blushing, I can feel the heat in his face. "It's my first time too," I say to him. Yes, cat's out of the bag, Capitol, I think. I'm not pregnant! That's right! Jerks! Peeta nods to tell me his affirmation. I squeeze his hips with my legs, and I find myself bucking my hips to meet his. I can feel the desperation increase, as well as the pressure in my body. I gasp and moan his name, and he manages a few responses. After a few minutes, Peeta begins to increase his speed, and I can feel an odd sensation occur in me. "Peeta," I gasp, but I can't form any other words. I cry out in pleasure, and Peeta tries to. My eyes have white twinkling lights behind them, and I can feel the aftermath of the explosion tiring me. Peeta holds very still, and I can feel him pulsing. It's over. He kisses my shaking lips, a small amount of sweat on them. He pulls out, and I'm left feeling empty and shallow. He lies beside me, and he is shivering a little. I put my arms around him, and we slowly pull our pants back on.

"Five minutes…" Caesar reminds us. Peeta looks at me. His face tells me everything I need to know; he's about to kill himself. Using the last of my strength, I scramble up, and grab the spear lying near us. I throw it as far into the water as I can, and I follow it with my bow and arrow. Peeta looks confused, and he stares at me trying to grab the answer from my mind. A thought occurs to him. He turns back to the sand.

Together?, he writes. I nod, though I'm lying. My vision is flickering before my eyes, and Peeta snuggles down beside me. He seems more content with this arrangement. Peeta is ready to simply wait for the end of the five minutes. I squeeze the last of my tears from my eyes.

"Peeta, I love you. Don't ever forget that. I'm sorry it's only just come out, but it's the best I can do. I love you, forever." He nods at me. He is returning exactly what I'm saying. He kisses me again, holding us together. My brain hurts, and my throat is dry. I lay my head on his shoulder, as I have done so many times before. Yes, this is how I would like to die. I rest my good arm over his stomach, and he intertwines our fingers. My heart rate picks up. I can feel I'm close to death. Sparkling lights break out in my vision. What do I want my last words to be? Peeta inhales sharply, and I can tell he's nervous. He grips my hands. How long is left? Not long? But the time still moves on. Surely I'm running out of time for my last words. I know for sure I'm running out of nerve, and strength to hold on to life.

"One minute." Caesar sounds defeated and emotionally moved. I smile, for here is the moment, and I pull Peeta as close as I can. I can't help a few more tears come, and let a sob come through my throat. Peeta kisses my hair.

"It's okay," I whisper to Peeta. "It's okay." My chest constricts nervously, and my throat feels blocked. My heart pumps rapidly, as if it knows the struggles are almost over. It's okay. My vision fades almost entirely, and my body feels prickly and painful all over. I close my eyes, content against Peeta's arm. He rests his head on mine, tightening his grip. Just seconds left, he thinks.

The cannon fires.

Peeta flinches, shocked, and then stares to look at Katniss' body. Her eyes are closed but a smile lingers on her face. Peeta's fingers fly over her face, her body. His face is panicked and pained.

"No," he rasps through his crushed throat. Tears flow freely from his eyes. He attempts to perform CPR on Katniss' body, but she is already pale from her blood loss, and she grows cold quickly. "No, no, no, no, no," moans Peeta. He picks Katniss up and holds her body desperately to his chest. He looks up the artificial sky, and the realisation crushes him.

"With thirty-two seconds left…the winner of the 3rd Quarter Quell and 75th Hunger Games is Peeta Mellark…" Caesar announces. The Capitol's hovercraft appears above him, and he is picked up. He drags Katniss' body with him, clutching her, sobbing erratically. He lands in the aircraft on his knees, Katniss' body splayed across him. Haymitch is there. He's managed to escape detection as a ploy in the rebellion. He crosses to Peeta, who is hysterically crying and touching Katniss' face.

"Let go," coaxes Haymitch. Peeta swipes at him unsteadily in defiance. Haymitch has tears in his eyes too, and kneels helplessly beside Peeta. Peeta is trembling. He kisses Katniss' lips, and their stillness breaks his heart further. The doctors have come to fix him. They grab his arm and pull him to a stand, forcing him to let go of Katniss. Haymitch catches her before she can hit the floor. Peeta yells and protests as much as he can with his wrecked throat. The doctors drag him through a clear windowed room, drag him from the love of his life, and place him on a white sterile table. They work on his body, healing his wounds. But they can never heal that wound. The wound that is lying, dead, in her mentor's arm. The wound that will never hug him again, never kiss him again, never smile at him again, and never validate his existence again. The wound that is Katniss Everdeen, the most inspirational person he would ever meet. She is gone, and with her, all of Peeta's world, except a hard stabbing pain in his heart.

(A/N) Hi guys. Wow, this story has received way more views than I ever thought it would. Only 1 review though, haha.

So, I actually came up with what I think is a totally awesome plot to follow this. If I receive a certain amount of interest, I will start it, continuing on in this story. So, please Review or PM your interest in the potential story. I promise it will be written to the same standard.

Otherwise, just review your thoughts on this regardless! ;P

For anyone interested, I'm currently writing a set of gap fillers for the Hunger Games. It's called The Eye of the Beholder and it follows the story of the Hunger Games in sections, but through a different character's eyes. For example, the Reaping and the first night of the Games in Peeta's perspective have been done. I'm taking requests for scenes.

Love,

R-COTA.


	2. Chapter 2

(A/N) Hi! So I've received a modicum amount of interest in the continuation of this story. I've decided to give it a go, see how it fares. If it gets a few loyal fans, I will most definitely continue. Please be warned, this will not follow much of the canon storyline.

It's Okay, Chapter 2

Peeta woke up in a sterile room. Everything was white; the walls, the curtains, the roof, the lights even. It's far too bright and uncomfortable, and Peeta's eyes are slits trying to take everything in. Blearily, he tries to sit up, but he's being held down. He's strapped in. There is a nurse a few feet from him; and her hair contrasts magnificently with the white room around her being a bright, harsh pink.

"Nurse," he whispers. His throat is better. "Nurse!" She turns, startled by his sudden awakening.

"Mr. Mellark, you're not supposed to be awake yet!" she chides him. "How are you feeling, though?" She flashes a light in his eyes, checking his vitals. Her hands check his pulse on his neck.

"Where's Katniss?" Peeta asks, staring into his nurse's eyes. She discreetly changes the subject.

"You're doing very well to have woken up only two days after the Games." She fiddles with his bedspread, folding it and smoothing away lines. Peeta takes her busy arm and stills it. She looks into his eyes unhappily.

"Where is Katniss?" repeats Peeta. His gaze is cold. "I want to see her. I need to know she's okay." The nurse's expression pities Peeta.

"Oh, Mr. Mellark. Don't you remember?" She sits down on his bed and soothingly rubs his hand. "Miss Everdeen didn't make it, remember? You won the Quell." Something stirs in Peeta's mind: the sound of cannon fire, the sound of hysteria, his own, Katniss lying still on the ground.

"No, that was a dream," Peeta says firmly, shaking the horrid images from his head.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Mellark," whispers the nurse, and then she leaves the room. Peeta stares at the door she left through, and immediately tries to sit up, but he's still bound. He falls back against the mattress.

"No," he mutters, pushing against the restraints. "No! No, no, no, no! Ugh!" He presses with all his might against his captor, straining his muscles. He feels strong and healthy at least. Whatever they've been feeding him is working. The restraints don't budge though. Haymitch enters the room then, slowly and sadly.

"Hey, kid." He stands about two feet away, hands in his pockets. He reeks, if possible, even more strongly of liquor than usual. His eyes are distinctly red and baggy. He doesn't look as though he's gotten much sleep at all. Peeta takes in his appearance, and slowly he begins to believe the nurse.

"Katniss…?" The stilted question says all. Haymitch nods dejectedly, shuffling one foot.

"I'm sorry, kid." Haymitch's voice is pained. Peeta is staring at the floor, trying to comprehend. At the moment though, there is only anger.

"You promised!" Peeta yells, reminding Haymitch of his deal. "You promised me!" Wetness grows in Peeta's eyes.

"Hey, I promised her the same thing too! I can't help it if she bled to death!" Haymitch looks ashamed of his words. Peeta feels grief well up in his chest, and the memories of the Quell fade in. He can distinctly remember now being pulled away from her body, from life itself, and his breathing becomes laboured in response.

"Where is she?" mutters Peeta, avoiding Haymitch's eyes. He can't stand to look at him.

"She's on board somewhere," Haymitch says. "I don't think you're allowed to see her."

"I have to see her," demands Peeta anyway. Haymitch smiles wryly.

"I know." He turns to exit, leaving Peeta a little flabbergasted. But he is gone before Peeta can protest, and Peeta is left to deal with grief alone in his room. Haymitch leans against the door he closed behind him, and he listens. After a few moments of silence, Haymitch hears the sobs begin. They were small at first, almost tentative, but in a minute they turn to loud grief-stricken cries of pain. He can hear Peeta murmuring Katniss' name. "I'm sorry, kid," he says again, before walking away.

xx.

After two more days of doing literally nothing, Peeta is released from the confines of his bed. There is still a day until he has to be interviewed by Caesar and forced to watch the worst time of his life in front of the population of Capitol. Peeta interprets this as a day to find Katniss. The air ship he is on travels smoothly through the air at unidentifiable speeds, and there are about a hundred people on board. Mostly doctors, and Game officials, but Peeta's stylist team is there, and Haymitch too.

Peeta is sitting at the breakfast table with Effie and Portia. Haymitch is nowhere to be found, though everyone knows he has likely commandeered the entire alcoholic population on the ship and is steadily reducing it to nothing. Peeta picks at his food. Why eat? Effie is happy and smiling, as always. Though Peeta thinks the corner of her lips fold down just slightly when she thinks no one is looking. Miss Manners would never let anyone see her dissatisfaction though, so she carries on, a forceful rocket of happiness.

"So, Peeta," she turns to him, clasping her long pale fingers together. "Not much left to do now. All you have to do is wow everybody at your final interview, and then you can go home!" Her voice is bright and cheery. Peeta glances at her, and shrugs his shoulders indifferently. Portia catches his eyes and they share a sad look. Effie clears her throat. "I am…sorry, Peeta," she whispers timidly. "I was fond of Katniss too, despite her poor etiquette." Peeta nods, picking some more at his plate. His jaw clenches, and squeezes his eyes shut. Thinking of Katniss was difficult. He stood abruptly.

"I'm not hungry." He leaves, leaving Portia and Effie watching him disappear.

"Well, that was a bit rude," says Effie, miffed.

Peeta hurries along as fast as he can, though he will never be as fast as he could have been, not on this fake leg. He is reminded of Katniss slowly nursing him back to health, reminded of the kisses in the cave, reminded of waking up to find Katniss covered in blood, reminded of the fear of losing her…remembers that he has lost her. The pain grips him again. No, he thinks to himself. Not yet. You still don't know. Not really. He scurries all over the ship, searching high and low. He walks through door after door, finding nothing but passenger quarters. Eventually, in a secluded corner of the ship where there is little to no foot traffic, Peeta finds a door that won't open. It is surrounded by protruding walls on either side, the door nestled comfortably in between. He pushes on it insistently. This has got to be it. He pushes again, and again, ramming his shoulder into the door. It stays firmly closed. He takes a step back and is about to kick it, when the knob starts to turn. He gasps, and quickly runs around the corner, successfully hiding himself behind the expanded wall. The door opens, and a bright light escapes through it. Peeta's heart pounds as a person in a white lab coat strides out of the room, looking at a clip board. He walks right past Peeta, too absorbed in the writing on the clipboard. Peeta watches as the light shining on the opposite wall slowly disappears; the door is closing. Peeta rushes around to it, and at the last moment, slides his hand between the door and the frame. It's still open. Cautiously, Peeta pulls it open further, peering inside.

The bright light feels like it shines right through his head it's so bright. Raising a hand to shield his eyes, he walks forward a few paces. A look around informs him he's in a laboratory of some sort. Odd, he thinks. There is a tiny round table in the far corner; a couple of whiteboards on the walls with complicated science-related things on them, but essentially the space in between is empty. The wall opposite him is not a wall at all, but a mirror. Curious, Peeta approaches it. He cups his hands around his eyes and tries to peer through it; perhaps it is not a mirror, but a window? He can make out the dim outline of things on the other side, but nothing substantial. There was no door into the mysterious room. Perhaps the window was the door? Peeta begins pressing random spots on the window, searching for an invisible button. Nothing happens. His fingers drag along the wall, looking for cracks revealing secret doors. He's just about done sweeping the room when his fingers brush over what looks like a light switch. He turns back, and presses the switch. The room is plunged into complete darkness, but the result is that Peeta can see through the window wall. His breath stops, and he rushes over to it.

Katniss is lying, sleeping, on a steel surgical table, wearing a hospital gown. There are machines and wires all around her. Metre high shelves are stacked with fluids of various colours in containers; an x-ray looking picture is plastered across a light; Katniss' clothes are stacked neatly in a corner. A smile practically bursts of Peeta's face as he hungrily drinks in the image in front of him. He desperately pushes on the window, hoping it will disappear and give him entrance. It doesn't yield, but Peeta is not discouraged. He runs to the corner of the room, and with a groan picks up the table in the far corner. It is small, but heavy. Peeta takes a deep breath, and throws it as hard as he can against the window. It smashes fantastically, glass cascading down in sharp shards. The glass hasn't even finished falling before Peeta is running over it, leaping over the table and holding onto Katniss.

"Katniss!" he yells excitedly. He takes his face in her hands, noting her still closed eyes. "Katniss, wake up! Wake up!" He smiles almost manically down at her, expectantly. He stays like this for thirty seconds, just staring into her face. Slowly, his eyebrows fall, his smile fades, and his eyes begin to tear as the evidence knits together in his head; Katniss is not sleeping, Katniss is icy cold and grey, her body is rigid, her chest is not moving. Katniss is indeed dead. "What?" Peeta says. He looks her up and down, confused. Why keep her like this? He wonders. He looks over at her clothes folded nicely, and the image puzzles him. He stares at the pile of clothes for a few more moments, before he turns back to Katniss. How he wished her eyes would open. They don't. Peeta's chest rises and falls rapidly as he begins to hyperventilate. It was like losing her all over again. He climbs onto the steel table with her and forces her torso upwards. He situates himself under her, laying her upper body on his. He puts his arms around her cold form and squeezes tightly. The tears leak from his eyes, splashing onto her hair, but he lets them fall unashamedly. He kisses the top of her head with shaking lips. After several minutes with her body, he realises he must leave. He lays her down, pushing stray hairs from her beautiful face as he did so. His heart aches as he looks at her immobile face. "Goodbye…" He kisses her lips one more time, knowing it will never be enough. Even if they had both lived to one hundred years old, and kissed several times daily, it would never have been enough. There is no such thing as enough Katniss to Peeta.

He's leaving the room, when he notices some folders on one of the shelves. Curious, he picks one up and lets it fall open. It's about the results of a test of some sort. It's about Katniss. Amid the scientific information on there, Peeta can only recognise that Katniss' DNA has been found to be a successful candidate for something. The jumble of words makes no sense to a simple baker who had never fared especially well at school. He takes the piece of paper and runs, taking one last look at Katniss, before leaving. Peeta's artificial leg struggles a little over the sea of glass shards but Peeta is soon running as quickly as he can back to his room, as he now stays in quarters, not the hospital. In the privacy of his room, Peeta can attempt to understand the science papers. He examines them in detail.

xx.

The man who left the lab, allowing Peeta in, strode with purpose. His name was Benjamin Freeyd. He was taking large strides towards the communication centre. He opened the door purposefully, startling the quiet people inside.

"Out," he snapped at the few people manning the phones. They scattered, afraid. One tripped over as he shuffled out the door. Benjamin sat himself heavily down at one of the booths, and picked up the phone. He dialled President Snow himself with shaking fingers. He was a little nervous.

"Yes?" says Snow. Freeyd swallowed.

"Sir, Benjamin Freeyd, reporting the Everdeen results."

"What did you find?"

"Her DNA is intact. It's going to be perfectly possible to clone her. We can begin as soon as we return to Capitol, sir." Freeyd smiles as he speaks, proud of his findings.

"Good, good," says Snow. "Report to me as soon as you land. Good bye."

"Oh, sir!" interjects Freeyd. He stammers, no longer bold. "T-there's something else."

"Yes?"

"When we took the body, we thought we'd test everything, just in case. And, obviously we wanted to find her gametes for the cloning. But we found something unexpected. It hadn't been there for long, but it was long enough. Somehow the process continued a little after death. We saved it in time."

"Get on with it!" Snow growls impatiently, having no clue what he was talking about.

"Sir, there was the beginnings of an embryo. When the Victor and Everdeen had intercourse, there was an egg, and the process of fertilisation started. She was just in the extremely early stages of pregnancy, you could barely call it an embryo, a zygote would be closer. If she'd lived, she would have become pregnant. We have been able to retrieve it safely from her body. It is viable, and healthy, and replicating as we speak under optimum conditions."

Snow is silent on the other end.

xx.

Peeta refuses to come out of his room for lunch, even though he is making absolutely no headway with the science report. He would have to investigate when he got home. After several hours turning the paper over and over in his head, his thoughts are being reduced to repeating the image of Katniss' body. In his mind when the glass shatters, Katniss wakes from a peaceful sleep and gives him a hug when she spots him. Reality is much harsher.

Eventually, at around 5 o'clock, Portia knocks on his door, letting him know they need to begin preparations for his interview the next day. He's lead to the beauty chamber on the ship, prepared for pain, but it's only a simple process this time; his skin is scrubbed raw (only a little painful), his chin is shaved, and they carefully trim his mop of a hairdo. Once Peeta is considered to be beautiful again, Portia discusses his clothing options with him. Portia prattled on at length, debating on the pros and cons of suit colour. Once she has made a decision, Peeta is allowed to leave.

"Peeta," Portia whispers as he leaves the chamber, "don't forget you still have to pretend to be in love at the interview tomorrow. You have to pretend to be grieving." Peeta's expression is incomprehensible at this reminder, it's almost twitching. Pretend?

xx.

The third night Peeta spent aware he was alone passed without incident. Attempting to face the rest of his life without Katniss seemed hardest at night when he sorely missed having her in his bed, missed having her immediately next to him. It was a hard thing to try and get out of, habit-wise.

In the morning, Haymitch made a brief appearance at the table. He was hung over, but relatively aware of the goings-on around him. He turned up to grab some toast and disappeared shortly after.

The rest of the day passed slowly, and Peeta was dressed in a plain black suit for his interview. No doubt it was supposed to be reminiscent of what people wear to funerals.

The sun has gone down by the time Peeta is waiting backstage for Caesar to call him up. Today he would not make an effort, he would not act happy. Effie straightened his collar before he strode up to the stage. Caesar stood up, shook his hand jovially, and offered him the seat next to him. Peeta looks into his eyes and sees the happiness on the man's face. Surely, this man was mad. How else could he stand by year after year and watch this happen? Because he is from the Capitol, Peeta answers his own question.

"Peeta, Peeta," says Caesar. "Congratulations! You have made history in the games! Not only the only winner of more than Hunger Games, but of two in a row!" Caesar smiles, waiting for his response.

"Well, I suppose someone had to come out a Victor of more than one Games. It just happened to be me," Peeta murmurs. His face does not change expression, merely remaining a blank canvas. He refuses to look at Caesar anymore, choosing instead to look at some point beside his head.

"Yes, very true, very true," Caesar nods emphatically. "So you don't feel you had any advantage over anyone in those games?"

"Definitely not. I only have one real leg, remember?" Peeta says. At this Caesar laughs out loud.

"So, you feel lucky?"

"Very lucky." Not really, though, Peeta thinks viciously. His face is still unmoved.

"Now…about Miss Everdeen…" begins Caesar. Peeta's face instantly tightens, and he unwillingly looks at Caesar. Peeta hears the whole audience draw in a collective breath and hold it. This is what they've been waiting for. "What went through your mind when her cannon sounded?" Peeta feels his eyes grow watery, but only a little. He is determined to not let anyone see this emotion. They've seen enough anyway.

"I don't really know." It's honest.

"Let's see it, shall we?" says Caesar. Peeta's attention is drawn to a screen, and he instantly feels a pang in his heart. There he is, on screen, and Katniss is lying next to him. She is telling him she loves him. Peeta can see the tears down her face. He also, for the first time, truly notices her arm; long and slender, covered in dark blood. It seeps onto sand beside her. He watches as Katniss grows quiet, and her eyes drift close. He watches as he himself sits there, actually looking a little content, when the cannon fires. Now the screen portrays the video in slow motion. His eyes widen slowly, almost comically. Then he watches as every emotion pain-stakingly flutters across his face; confusion, fear, anger, love and grief. The video finishes just as the hovercraft appears above him. Caesar is watching him closely, and so is the audience. Peeta's face is visibly wet even though he is now staring at his knees. Small droplets appear on his pants.

"How dare you?" he whispers. He snaps his head up to stare accusingly at Caesar. "How dare you?" he bellows. Peeta lurches upwards, grabs the chair he'd just stood up from, and throws it as hard as he can at the crowd. They scream. "You all sit here year after year and watch twenty three people die! You just sit back and watch as these people kill each other, but it's okay because it's not you! You actually enjoy it!" Peeta is breathing haphazardly. "That was my wife!" His voice breaks. No, it's technically not true, but she may as well have been. "My wife!" he repeats. "And she is dead! She is dead because you all think it's hilarious and entertaining." Peeta stands, staring, leering at them. The audience is quiet. They are used to Victors telling them how happy they are to have won.

"Forgive me, Peeta. But was she really your wife? We know she wasn't pregnant, revealed by Katniss herself in the Games, so we are a little curious about what's true," muses Caesar.

"Yes, we lied, or really, I lied about the pregnancy. But the marriage was not a lie," says Peeta. Not to me, anyway. Caesar clucks his tongue sadly.

"It's a tragic loss, Peeta. She was a spectacular girl." Caesar has a grim expression, and Peeta looks back at him.

"Yes. Yes, she was." Peeta did not like using the past tense.

(A/N) PLOTS!

Reviews very much appreciated! I practically live off of them, haha! No need to be shy, I take criticism, constructive preferred :P

So, this is really just a test chapter. Depending on the reactions to this, I'll continue. Keep in mind this is only setting up the plot; very little action.

Love,

R-COTA.


	3. Chapter 3

(A/N) Please note: District 12 has not been bombed in this version as the rebellion does not/has not yet taken place.  
>This chapter is also kind of short. I've had a little bit of writer's block with this chapter because it's kind of inbetween-y, but the next one will be good :)<p>

It's Okay, Chapter 3

The train finally pulls in at the station of District 12 after a few more long days aboard it. Peeta stands, along with everyone else, and makes his way to the door. Vaguely, Peeta expects to see Katniss by his side waiting to be reunited with her family, but of course, she never shows. Haymitch grips Peeta's shoulders as he approaches him.

"It's almost over," Haymitch murmurs to him. He gives Peeta's shoulders another squeeze consolingly, but Peeta purses his lips and refuses to respond; it will never be over. He would have six months of peace, or really grief, before a lifetime of watching Tributes be forced through the Games. Suddenly Haymitch's dependency on alcohol makes a lot of sense.

What appears to be the entire population of District 12 can be seen through the windows of the train, crowds of faces all craning their necks to look at, to catch a glance of the Victor. Returning to the District reminds Peeta of the stark colour difference between it and the Capitol. The Capitol runs rampant with colour while the District always looks forlorn, grey and dull; even duller so now with the loss of Katniss. With numb feet Peeta walks down to the station platform and hears the cheer of the crowd. Two years in a row District 12 has won; a feat never achieved before, not in the poorer Districts. The District claps and screams loudly for their lone returning Tribute, thoughts of the other absent Tribute forgotten. There are few discernable words in the hubbub, and even fewer discernable faces. Of those faces is his father. His father rushes forward, as do his two brothers. Peeta's mother is not present. Their arms rain down upon him, gripping anywhere possible. Peeta feels their tears of relief on his shoulders, but he can muster no emotion. Not yet. Not when _she_ can't, when she could only days ago. Peeta automatically moves his feet as his family leads him onwards. Hands run down Peeta's back, along his arms and graze his head as he passes. Celebrity.

At the edge of the crowd, Peeta glances up in time to see Katniss' mother, her sister and Gale, who are lingering hesitantly. Gale's face is stony, and his arms are folded firmly across his chest, but his eyes are visibly red as if from hours of tears. Katniss' mother has a conflicted expression; her eyebrows are knitted together in grief, but her mouth is pulled up just slightly for Peeta's sake. But it is Primrose who breaks Peeta's heart; Prim who has lost her dear sister that loved her far more than her own life and supported her every day, Prim, who is bravely hitching a smile to her face to try and hide the misery in her eyes, and waving. In that moment, Peeta decides to carry on Katniss' constant mission: protect Primrose. But for now his family steers Peeta to their house and he can only follow.

They don't have to walk far; the bakery is upon them quickly. Peeta's mother stands at the front door, expressionless. Silence falls stiffly between the family. Peeta's father smiles encouragingly though.

"Let's get inside shall we? Before we catch our death," he says. It is chilly in the District today, but regardless, no warm welcome or warm fire could change Peeta's cold, depressed mood. His father steers him, with a gentle but rough hand, to a small, puffy chair in front of the hearth. Something warm appears in Peeta's hand; a small bread roll, recently fresh from the oven. His mother's hands quickly pull back after giving him the roll, but not before giving his wrists a small squeeze. This is the most affection his mother has ever given him. His family is crowded around him like never before. Peeta looks up at them morosely, his blonde hair falling into his eyes, and he squeezes the roll in his hands. The crust crackles. Even bread, a simple staple in anyone's diet, reminds him of her painfully. As does his house; if he looks to the left, there is a window overlooking the front of the house, where he has seen her pass by several times. In his bedroom is where he has spent a fair amount of time merely lying on his bed thinking about her, both innocently and not so innocently. At the back of the house, perhaps most importantly, is the reminder of when two loaves of bread had made a very important change in someone's life, in two peoples' lives, really; Peeta included himself. No, this house is unbearable now.

"I'm going to go to the Victor's Village," states Peeta, standing. His family nods, upset, and allows Peeta to make his way to his room, and pack the few things he'd left rather than take to the Victor's Village at the end of the last Games. They watch him as a group, emotionally barred by a giant invisible blockade the Games had put between Peeta and everyone; except Katniss and Haymitch. He is done within an hour; an advantage of having few belongings. His clothes are packed into one bag and what little books and personal items still there have been stuffed in another. Peeta turns to walk out of his room, and takes a last glance at it. It hardly mattered. He had expected a swell of emotion, and nostalgia, after all, he had planned to die in the Arena, and now here he is, against all odds, in his bedroom. But all Peeta sees is a room stagnant with dust where a young boy called Peeta used to sleep. Peeta, the man, has unreadable eyes. Peeta closes his bedroom door, wordlessly shakes his father's and brothers' hands, nods at his mother, and slowly exits. "Feel free to visit," he says in a hollow voice before closing the door on his old house, and his old life.

The Victor's Village is about a fifteen minute walk, but it feels like longer when anybody you pass wishes to stop you and congratulate you on winning the Hunger Games. Peeta feels as though hundreds of people have wrung his hand and gushed "It's so nice to see someone return!" before he makes it to the Village. Haymitch is waiting for him, as are a crowd of twenty or so reporters. Haymitch lurches forward, slightly ahead of the first eager reporters itching to get a shot of the Victor. Haymitch's deceptively strong hands close on his shoulders and push him none too ceremoniously through the entrance of his new house, right next to Haymitch's.

x.x.

In a lab in the Capitol, several scientists peer at charts and readouts, swill test tubes and keep a close eye on monitors. In the middle of this reclusive lab, sits a vertical tube. It is about a metre in circumference, and two metres high. It is filled with a bright green jelly-like liquid. There are numerous tubes connected to it. Bubbles slowly rise in the tube and evaporate out the top. Floating almost inconspicuously in the middle of the tube is a pink lump; about the size of a clenched fist. It pulses, and dark purple vein-like structures cover its surface. In the far corner of the room a closed door beeps electronically, and slides up into the roof. President Snow puts away his entry pass and strides majestically through the room.

"Freeyd," barks Snow. One of the people in lab coats jumps unexpectedly.

"Mr. President Sir! I didn't know you were coming!" Benjamin Freeyd scurries out from behind the monitor he was watching.

"You were told to contact me immediately upon returning," Snow whispers threateningly through his teeth. Freeyd balks.

"Sir, yes, I'm awfully sorry. There was a slight emergency. The embryo crashed a little, but we recovered it." Freeyd adjusts his safety glasses nervously.

"I don't care about the embryo!" spits Snow. "Tell me about the clone!" Benjamin gulps, and indicates to the glowing green tube. Snow examines it thoughtfully.

"The serum is working," explains Freeyd. "Its growth rate is exceptional. We can expect it to be fully grown in a matter of months. We don't foresee any complications." Snow nods.

"…Good…" He turns away.

"Sir?" Freeyd murmurs. Snow looks back. "What shall I do with the body? We've gotten everything we need from it. And what of the embryo?" Freeyd waits.

"Can you accelerate the growth of the child too?" Snow's eyes bore in Freeyd's menacingly.

"Uh…uh, yes we can. It might not work as well on the child as the clone, but yes, we can."

"Good…do that." Snow is almost out the door.

"And the body?" Freeyd enquires. Snow grins.

"Dispose of it in any way you like." He chuckles as he walks out the door. It slides shut behind him. Freeyd turns to his fellow scientists.

"Should I have told him about the break in to the air ship lab?"

x.x.

The reporters clamour against the windows and doors of Peeta's house. Their cameras flash and snap loudly. Peeta and Haymitch ignore them as best they can while they survey each other in Peeta's sparkling kitchen.

"Do you want to know?" Haymitch says disinterestedly. Peeta nods, and without a word, Haymitch whisks him upstairs to his bathroom. He switches on all the water taps, pushes buttons in the shower and switches the fan on. White noise. Peeta waits expectantly.

"I'm a part of a rebellion Peeta," Haymitch begins. His nose is red, the effects of last night's alcohol hasn't fully disappeared. "We tried to get you and Katniss out. Finnick, Johanna, Beetee and Wiress were all a part of it. So were the Morphlings. It didn't work. The people running the ship were caught. I wasn't able to sneak away to get on it either. It was an utter failure. Everyone aboard that ship from the rebellion has either been killed, or is being tortured for information as we speak. Consider yourself lucky, kid." Peeta swallows. "There's more. District 13 is alive and well, and running the rebellion; have been all this time. In exchange for not being part of the Games, and under the Capitol's thumb, they don't use the nuclear weapons their District specialised in on the Capitol. They wanted Katniss as the face of their rebellion. I imagine now that she…well, they'll probably ask you now." Peeta shakes his head.

"They can't have me."

"Peeta-"

"No. I want nothing to do with this. End of story." Peeta's jaw clenches firmly, and Haymitch nods.

x.x.

And it _was_ the end of the story. At least, it was until six months later, when Peeta is required to go on his Victory tour. It has arrived quicker than he thought it would. Peeta is just nearly 18, and has barely spoken a word to Haymitch, and probably fewer to anyone else. Haymitch has sunk into a permanent drunken stupor.

Peeta has spent six months in his room, pining, and planning. He had noted that Katniss' body never came home. After days of poring over library books he had finally understood the paper he stole; they were cloning Katniss? Or they were reanimating her? Here was his chance. He'd slowly devised an idea of infiltrating the Capitol.

The time has come, he thinks.

x.x.

"This time has come," says Freeyd, surveying his masterpiece. She stands still on the table, her eyes unreadable. Her hair is brushed perfectly; her clothes have been cleaned, and look exactly the same on her. Her eyes are bright with life, but a dull grey. Video equipment is stacked in the corner of the room, filled with images of her 'life'. "Who are you?"

"I'm Katniss Everdeen. I'm 17. I survived the Hunger Games…" Her eyes are blank. Freeyd smiles.

"Good, and where are you from?"

"District 12."

"What is your mission?"

"To maintain the peace; the Districts can never uprise. Teach others the Capitol is supreme."

"And who is your enemy?" Freeyd stares at her, wondering. This was the one piece of information she'd resisted.

"...Peeta Mellark."

(A/N) Hi guys. Sorry about the delay. I've been awfully busy with university this week. Not a very long chapter, but I wanted to get right to the action, and I also wanted to get the next instalment up, otherwise I was afraid I might lose steam.

Stay tuned!

Reviews, pleeeeease?


End file.
